


The Streetlight People

by SleepingReader



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Streetlight, The City at Night, the Fair Folk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 02:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11934654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: This is how I feel when I walk through the city I live in at night. It's scary, it's strange and it's wonderful.But I hardly dare to do it alone.





	The Streetlight People

If you should go to a city after one o’clock, you will find more traces of magic than at 9 in the morning. Noon, of course, has the highest traces of magic, but that’s sun-magic, and will only last in the daytime. But to the ones that travel out of their homes in the city after one o’clock in the morning, I warn you. Not only your kind is walking the streets.   
Wear your iron necklace. Carry a salt shaker in your pocket. Even if it doesn’t help, it might make you feel safe. Believe in them, and you’ll be prepared. Ignore them, and you may fail.  
Put on your coat, get out of your door. Step into the light of the streetlamps. Don’t notice the man with the boots with the spurs. He’s simply patrolling. Walk on. 

The shops are closed to you, but behind the windows of the clothing store you pass, another trade is blooming. It’s Hope they trade in, in the closed-up shops. Trades of colors-once-forgotten, memories-made and promises-kept. Currency is written with silver ink on small pieces of paper.  
Don’t think the Day-Staff don’t know. 

Run your fingers by the iron fence. It’s cool to the touch, yet it seems cleaner than it was today. Your fingers don’t get dirty. Streetlights do that. 

Give money to the homeless person who walks by. Don’t use your own language, but if you give him enough for a hamburger, he will grant you the gift of sleep. 

Peek into the library, into the section on biology. You’ll find a small white kitten sitting on the floor, trying to find out where its purr comes from. Smile to yourself, but don’t knock on the window. Don’t bother the little scientist. 

Nod at the Night-Watch-Man guarding the shop where they sell medicinal drugs. He won’t nod back. He hasn’t seen the day for a long time, and maybe that is best. 

The bartender is caught in a time-loop. Every day is the same for him. Order the same thing every time you go, and he will give you thanks. Time-loops are hard. At least you’re an easy customer. At least you _know._   
Drink your drink. Stare deeply into the eyes of the lady sitting next to you at the bar. Her eyes will change color and shape. Don’t forget to blink. Don’t give her your full name. Instead, only give her your phone number, written with permanent marker on a napkin, with an X where your name should be. If it’s meant to be, she’ll call before noon. 

Before you know it, it’s three o’clock. The bar is closing, time for the bartender to start his loop again, at 6:34. At least he’ll have some time alone. Maybe he’ll read stories to the little scientist kitten, in the library. Maybe he’ll buy a memory of a sister’s hand through his hair. But that’s none of your business. 

Walk home, but take a different route. Don’t look at the escalators in the department store. You know what lies between.   
See the closed MacDonalds. The lights are out, no people here except for the homeless man, sleeping on one of the benches outside. His blanket will have slipped, but don’t touch him. Don’t touch him. 

Ignore the tugs at your ankles as you round the corner to your street. Close your eyes if you must. You do not want to know.   
The people on the square next to your apartment are loud. What they’re saying, you don’t know, but don’t stop to listen. Remember that in this city, at this time, you are not in charge. From noon until four o’clock the city is yours, but keep to your schedule. 

Put your key in the keyhole. Don’t look at the cyclist driving past. Turn the key. Step into the little hallway that leads up to your home. Don’t look straight up. Look at your boots. They’re solid and good. Run through the hallway. Go up the stairs, say hello and goodnight to the students on their balcony. They have no idea.   
Step onto your own balcony. Look at the rooftops surrounding it. If you’re lucky, you might see a swish of a watery tail as dewdrops are spread.   
Open the door to your home. Step through. Close it. Sigh. 

Another night survived.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading! I got inspired by a Tumblr post, which featured a white cat reading a book in what looked like Hogwarts. 
> 
> Did you like my title? It's from the Journey song, Don't Stop Believin'. (Streetlight people/ living just to find emotion/ hiding somewhere in the night)


End file.
